Einstein Dog

by Craig Spence

  “Send them in,” he sighed.

  Hindquist wondered why he kept the Gowler brothers on. As for Doctor Molar, there had to be scientists of greater stature who would be keen to work for AMOS. He sighed, ushering the three through to his conference room. The day would come when AMOS and its affiliates would have their pick of the world’s best minds. For now he’d have to make do.

  Bob Gowler gawked at the conference room video screen as if he wished the AMOS logo might be replaced by Looney Tunes. Seeing Hindquist’s look of displeasure Charlie swung his ham fist, clipping his brother smartly on the back of the head.

  “Ow!” Bob complained.

  “Close yer yap and park yer butt on that chair,” the elder Gowler ordered.

  Bob yipped, but obeyed.

  Doctor Molar watched this exchange with amused interest.

  “Gentlemen!” Hindquist began. “The work you have done so far has advanced our cause significantly. Well done.” He paused to let the compliment penetrate the porridge of the Gowler brothers’ brains. They were more used to threats and commands than words of praise. When Bob’s pout gave way, first to a look of surprise, then to a smile, like a child discovering an unexpected A on his report card, Hindquist continued. “Now the real work begins,” he said, picking up the video remote and clicking to bring Cornelia Zolinsky up on the screen.

  “Hey, that’s the dean lady,” Bob cried.

  “Three points for the bozo,” Charlie growled. “Now shut up and watch.”

  “You needn’t be so rude,” Doctor Molar chastised. “Kindness gets the best results, even with lower life forms.”

  “Yeah? Well you needn’t go sticking your scientific nose into other people’s business,” Charlie threatened.

  “I advise the three of you to SHUT UP!” Hindquist exploded, pausing the surveillance video. He glared them down and then resumed his presentation. “Charlie, I want you to note the layout of our target as we go through the video.”

  “Target?”

  “Yes. You need to gain access to Professor Smith’s laboratory. I want you and Bob to install some remote sensing equipment and copy data from his computer hard drive.”

  “Bug the joint and steal some industrial secrets,” Charlie translated.

  “Precisely. We’re heading toward the entrance of the Stafford Building now. Watch closely,” Hindquist admonished, pointing out the woefully inadequate security at Triumph University.

  “Doctor Molar, you’ll be interested in this next bit,” he noted as Professor Smith began his guided tour of the SMART lab. “This is where they test the dogs. With the information from Professor Smith’s computer and this layout I think we should be able to duplicate his laboratory here at AMOS, don’t you?”

  The scientist bobbed in agreement. “I think we’ll be able to do better than that, Mr. Hindquist,” he said defensively. “I think we’ll come up with some ideas of our own.”

  “Good!” Hindquist smiled. “And with a brand new litter of SMART dogs as breeding stock, I think we should be in business in no time. That part’s easy.”

  “That part?” Doctor Molar swallowed doubtfully. “You mean there’s more?”

  “Oh, just one or two minor inventions, Doctor. Nothing you can’t pull out of your thinking cap between now and when the next generation of SMART dogs are ready for training.”He paused, enjoying the anxious look from his Director of Research & Development. “I want you to equip our SMART dogs with the latest in surveillance and assault technology: cameras, weapons, radios . . . everything they’ll need to be the most deadly canines on four paws. The equipment must be light, durable, and easily maintained. It must allow complete command and control as well as efficient information transfer back to base.”

  “And you expect me to have this ready when?” Doctor Molar sputtered.

  “Oh, nine or ten months ought to be soon enough, a year at the outside. I’ve even got a name for your inventions: the Canine Spy Pack, or K-Pack for short.”

  “But . . . ”

  “I know you can do this,” the president of Advanced Military Ordinance Supply insisted. “We’ve already developed prototypes for human use; it shouldn’t be too difficult to adapt them for dogs.”

  Doctor Molar reddened, but stifled any objections. Arguing with Frank Hindquist was risky at the best of times, but most hazardous when he smiled stiffly, as he was doing just then.

  “That’s all for now gentlemen,” Hindquist said. But as the Gowler brothers headed for the door he added, “I want you to increase surveillance of the SMART facility. I want to know everything that’s going on there, understood?”

  “Yes sir,” Charlie answered.

  “Don’t worry, girl.”

  Bertrand tried his best to cheer Libra as they left the pound, but she couldn’t muster even a single wag of her drooping tail. She had never given way to despair before, despite the many disappointments that had come her way. But ever since Hindquist’s visit her spirits had sagged. Not even an outing on Campus Green could cheer her up.

  “Why did you attack him?” Bertrand wanted to know.

  The sudden gush of her emotions overwhelmed him: fear mixed with hatred. What struck Bertrand most about Libra’s telly was the scent of Hindquist, a sour stench that made Bertrand wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Gawd,” he said. “Close the door and turn on the fan! What is that stink?”

  His reaction drew a little smile out of Libra and a twitch of her tail. But the flicker of joy quickly died as a new wave of emotions welled.

  “Evil,” Bertrand translated. That was the only word to describe the surge of hatred that electrified the air between them. He sensed something ancient about Libra’s fury, an instinctive reaction in her species masked by centuries of adaptation to humankind, but which still lay coiled in her belly.

  “What does he want?”

  Libra stopped to think. After a moment an image began to materialize. A team of dogs appeared in a telly. They were hitched into a harness, like sled dogs, but instead of an elegant craft gliding over the snow on polished runners, they heaved a massive stone statue of Hindquist on a sledge through a blazing desert. Taskmasters whipped them, driving the scrawny, exhausted animals on. Then the view zoomed out and Bertrand shuddered, because the panorama now included hundreds of similar teams being driven remorselessly on with lashes and curses — not only dogs, but humans, too, and horses, oxen, cattle, every conceivable species.

  Animals that had served their purpose were summarily executed, their carcasses littering the dunes.

  “How can you know this?” Bertrand pleaded.

  The image dissolved, but it left behind a certainty as cold and hard as naked steel: Libra would never escape the SMART lab; she would never be going home with Bertrand. Professor Smith’s research had acquired a new and sinister purpose which none of them understood.

  “We can’t give in, girl,” Bertrand coaxed as they resumed their walk. But he couldn’t blame Libra for feeling the way she did. Professor Smith refused to say when she might come home, nor would Dean Zolinsky relax her strict rules. Bertrand and his father had argued about it again just before Bertrand and Libra set out on their walk.

  “I will be seeing the dean this very afternoon,” Professor Smith had said, “but the prospects of an immediate re-evaluation are not good. Dean Zolinsky was very annoyed at Libra’s outburst, and as you know, the dean is not inclined to forgive. She’s a stern, angry woman.”

  Bertrand hugged Libra again. “I know I’m not supposed to let you off-leash, but don’t you worry,” he said. “That stupid old witch isn’t going to stop us from having some fun. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  As a treat he planned on taking her to Campus Wood, a fringe of forest south of the green. “Who’s to know you’re running free in there?” he said cheerfully.

  They were being followed. Libra was sure of it. She snuffled, picking up traces of human scent. She sniffed some more, analyzing the forest air: a squirrel, Douglas fir, the pungent soil
. . . sweat! Whoever trailed them was pushing hard to keep up.

  “What’s wrong girl?” Bertrand asked, irritated and concerned.

  Libra tellied the image of a shadowy figure following them through the dappled light. She transmitted the scent of their pursuer, too.

  Bertrand was the only human she knew capable of communicating in Dog, a language made up of shared sensations: smells, images, tastes. The idea of wind would be conveyed by a phantom breeze ruffling your fur; sunrise as a vision of light, bursting over the horizon; puppies as the sweet scent of the young.

  Humans talked, their slur of sounds incomprehensible to Libra. Over time she had learned to identify some repeated words and phrases but, for the most part, human speech annoyed her, like the droning of flies. Bertrand talked, too, of course. He was human, after all. But he accompanied the verbal gobbledegook with clear, powerful tellies.

  “Someone out for a brisk walk?” he suggested.

  Libra knew better. Signaling that she wanted to investigate, she slunk off the path, doubling back through the wood.

  “Libra!” Bertrand hissed.

  Keep walking, she tellied, ignoring his command. Make plenty of noise.

  As their tracker got closer she detected another component to his man-smell, one that quickened her heart rate. Fear! He exuded the acrid odor of terror. Libra shivered. She knew of nothing quite so dangerous as a terrified human. Why is he following us? she wondered. Where is his pack?

  Suddenly the stalker rounded a crook in the path. Libra froze. He’d caught her off guard. He froze, too. He hadn’t spotted her, but had got closer than he’d intended to Bertrand. Like Libra, he was hoping he wouldn’t be noticed if he remained perfectly still.

  Move, she ordered the boy. Pretend not to see him.

  Thankfully Bertrand didn’t argue. He resumed his hike, thudding along the trail with more than his usual amount of crashing and thrashing.

  Libra resisted the urge to flatten herself onto her belly. The slightest twitch would give her away. She willed the man to keep looking up the trail after Bertrand. If he shifted his glance by so much as a degree, he would surely see her.

  “What’s going on?”

  Someone was talking to the man through a device attached to his glasses and plugged into his ear. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but she could read the emotions in a human voice, and this voice sounded impatient.

  “Can’t talk,” their pursuer whispered.

  “What do you see?” the voice in the earphone demanded.

  “It’s the kid. He’s just up ahead. I can see him through the trees.”

  “Can you see the mutt, Bob?”

  Sensing they were talking about her, Libra’s fur bristled.

  “No,” Bob said.

  “Do a slow pan,” Charlie Gowler ordered his brother. “I’ll set the camera on high zoom. Maybe we’ll be able to pick her out.”

  Bob’s head began to swivel slowly.

  “I don’t see anything,” he stammered.

  “Whoa! What’s that?” Charlie yelped. “Freeze!” he ordered his brother.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Just don’t move a muscle,” Charlie ordered, his voice tense.

  “I think there’s something in the bushes just off the trail.”

  “What’s in the bushes, Charlie?”

  “It’s probably nothing.”

  “But . . . ”

  “Shut your eyes!” Charlie growled.

  “But what’s in the bushes?”

  Libra sensed the man’s eyes scanning, focusing, picking out her shape from the concealing foliage.

  “Jeez!” Bob gasped. “Isn’t that the dog from Mr. Hindquist’s surveillance video — the vicious one?”

  “Calm down,” Charlie coached. “Pretend the dog isn’t even there.”

  “How can I do that?” Bob groaned.

  “You’ll do it because if you don’t she’s going to gnaw your friggin’ legs off!”

  “Oh jeez! Oh jeez!” Bob panted.

  “Calm down!”

  Libra knew she’d been seen and that slipping away was no longer an option. For a second she held her pose, then her lip curled, her hackles sprang up, and she growled.

  “Don’t run!” Charlie bellowed.

  “Oh nooo!” Bob wailed.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  If Bob Gowler had stood his ground, the outcome might have been entirely different; a lone dog was no match for a full-grown man. But he turned tail and ran, triggering Libra’s herding instincts. She harried and harassed the wailing human, steering him back down the trail toward a fetid mire of green slime and skunk cabbage they’d passed earlier. Driven by her nips and snarls, Bob ran headlong into this stinking cesspool, his legs still churning as he toppled with a mighty splat.

  That’s where Libra left him floundering, like a monster struggling to free itself from the bubbling ooze. Then she ran, her paws drumming the mossy track in an exuberant tattoo, her fur streaming behind her. She held her tail erect, a fluttering pennant. Perhaps she would pay a high price for what she’d done, but this was not the moment for calculating consequences; this was a moment of jubilation.

  Only after her victory did she heed Bertrand’s frantic whistles.

  “What the heck happened in there?” he demanded when she emerged back at the trailhead.

  Run! she signaled.

  And run they did, out of the forest, across Campus Green, straight back to the Stafford Building.

  Frank Hindquist laughed until his stomach ached and the tears rolled down his cheeks. In other circumstances he might have roared, smashed the desktop and summoned the Gowler brothers into his office. But what he’d witnessed through the Operative Control Unit worn by Bob Gowler had been so hilarious that Hindquist had thought fleetingly he might submit it to one of those inane television shows that featured catastrophic home videos.

  Bob’s squeals of panic; the snarls and snaps of the enraged hound; Charlie’s bellowed commands; the scene tilting as Bob executed a very messy faceplant into the bog . . .

  Hindquist broke down again, convulsed by great sobs of laughter. Still gasping, he wiped a tear from his eye and coughed. He sighed contentedly and glanced about his plush office, as if someone might have been watching his jollity from behind the potted palm or the leather sofa. “Ahem!” he said.

  He had important business to attend to. SMART dog 73 had clearly demonstrated her ability to outwit a human operative in the field, which meant the footage he’d just been laughing at could have some very serious implications. “I must get this to Vlad,” he told his computer. “Make a note of that.” He thought for a second or two, then added, “And be sure to remind him that SMART 73 is obsolete. She’s not the last SMART dog; she’s just a prototype.”

  Professor Smith hadn’t meant to make such a grand entrance into the SMART lab, but he was so distracted, so bursting with conflicting emotions, that he hardly noticed the door as he barged through.

  “My goodness!” Elaine glanced up from her workbench.

  “Rip the door off its hinges, why don’t you?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry,” he explained. “I’ve just come back from my meeting with Dean Zolinsky.”

  “Say no more,” she consoled. “Was it that bad?”

  “Good and bad actually,” he said glumly. “By the end of it I didn’t know whether I should hug her or threaten to hand in my resignation.”

  “Well,” Elaine grinned, “I sincerely hope you’d hand in your resignation before you’d hug her. I won’t stand for that.”

  He laughed. Elaine had a way of driving away his worries with a little joke or a brilliant smile. Gently, he touched his research assistant’s cheek.

  Again she smiled. “I thought we weren’t supposed to do that, Professor,” she taunted.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Now it was Elaine’s turn to frown.

  He knew what she was thinking. What about Bertra
nd? When would they be able to hold hands in front of him? When could Elaine come to their house for dinner? Why was he so reluctant to break the news?

  “So what did the dean say, Alex?” she interrupted.

  “Ah!” he cringed. “Frank Hindquist means business, Elaine. He’s already written a cheque for the million dollars. It means better equipment, enough money to attend international conferences. It’s a tremendous opportunity . . . ”

  “But?” she prompted when his enthusiasm faltered.

  “She won’t bend on SMART 73,” he grimaced. “In her mind the dog is now worth a million bucks so there’s no way we’re going to take 73 off campus. Not even for a weekend.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “Bertrand’s going to hate me.” Professor Smith shook his head sadly. “And I can’t blame him. I shouldn’t have let him think we could bring SMART 73 home. As long as the project was an obscure experiment nobody really cared about, there was a real chance of that happening. Now she’ll have to remain here indefinitely.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Elaine fumed. “Libra is an intelligent, sensitive spirit. She’s a social animal and Bertrand is her best friend.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” he wailed. “I don’t believe in this talking-canine nonsense, Elaine. But I do understand the deep connections that exist between a boy and his dog. Dean Zolinsky has no time for that. She said I should have been firmer from the outset, and not let the boy develop a relationship with a lab animal.”

  “Lab animal!” Elaine shrieked. “Why, the woman’s a fool!”

  “Now Elaine, there’s no need to be insulting.”

  “You may not believe in the telepathic connection between Libra and Bertrand, but I know it’s real, Alex,” she said. “Don’t you see? That’s the most important result of the mental acceleration trials to date. If we restrict Bertrand’s access to Libra we not only squelch a beautiful relationship, we also put the brakes on the most incredible advance in animal-human social interaction that’s ever been made.”

  Taken-aback, Alex turned and quick-marched out of the lab into the kennel. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. He banged the door shut behind him and began pacing unhappily. SMART 73 watched closely from her kennel.